“Sisters, one of you must sleep with this in your bed tonight. Ellis must not know I did not wear it.”
They giggled, and Mary took it. “Very well, Lizzy. I will sleep on it, and it shall be suitably wrinkled by morning.”
Elizabeth hugged her sisters and slipped quietly into the hall. When she reached his door, she tapped softly. After a moment, it opened, and Mr. Darcy stood before her in an elegant silk banyan tied at the waist. She could see the linen of his nightshirt, and where it was open, the smooth line of his neck and the sculpted curve of his collar bones.
She recoiled. She had never before seen a man’s bare neck or naked chest.
He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. She hesitated on the threshold, her throat tight, struggling to swallow. Whyhad she not allowed him to take her on to London? She would have been in her own chamber with him on the other side of a connecting door. But it was too late now.
She took one step, then another, and stopped. There was a fire burning in the grate, and the couch was large enough to hold her. She moved toward it and turned. He had closed the door and followed, keeping a proper distance.
“I will sleep here, sir.”
One of her hands clung to the high collar of her nightdress.
He nodded, walked to the dressing room, and returned with a pile of blankets. He handed her one, which she spread upon the couch, then another to serve as a sheet, and a third for warmth.
He went to his bed and asked, “How many pillows would you like, Mrs. Darcy?”
“I will take two.”
He brought them to her, and she placed them neatly at the head of the couch.
He gestured toward the clock. “It is half past nine, Elizabeth. Would you like to read fromThe Odyssey? I brought the book with me. We may continue our discussion for a few minutes, if you wish. Perhaps this may be the beginning of a tradition for us. There is no reason your studies should cease. I may not be as learned as your father, but we can learn together. I did study these texts at Cambridge and received high marks. I did not throw away my opportunities there; I was one of the few who actually studied.”
He grinned.
Her shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. “I am surprised to hear that, sir. I had believed that gentlemen of your rank did not care for studies or higher learning. You have exposed a prejudice I did not know I held. Please sit, and let us read.”
He picked up the book from the end table and handed it to her. They sat together, reading and conversing until the candles burned low.
When he slipped into his own bed and extinguished the lights, he laughed softly at himself. If his friends ever learned how he had spent his wedding night, he would be the butt of their jokes for the rest of his life.
She was a lovely girl, one he might never have chosen for himself but for the compromise and her impending fate with that lecherous cousin. That man had been unworthy of her.
It had been a good day. He felt a level of contentment that surprised him. And as he lay in the quiet darkness, Darcy resolved to nourish her mind first, for in doing so, he knew he would one day win her heart.
Chapter 24: Foiled
Richard disrobed and banked his fire. “Reeves, bring up my bath water at six. I doubt Darcy will need your services before then.”
“Very good, sir.”
His laundry was bundled in the crook of Reeves’s arm, and Richard grinned as he thought of his taciturn cousin. Darcy was paying dearly for his impolitic manners. This country girl was schooling him proper. He chuckled. How long would she make him wait before she allowed him into her bed? He deserved every bit of her censure. Darcy was proud and had fallen into the habit of speaking harsh judgments without cause and without reprimand. He had been on his own since the elder Mr. Darcy’s death, and even before then, the man could do no wrong in his father’s eyes. He had always been allowed to behave just as he pleased.
Well, no more. This lively Hertfordshire girl was his equal in every stubborn particular. Richard laughed softly and wondered if his elegant, proud cousin would make his bed on the floor, the couch, or a cot in the dressing room. Still laughing, he extinguished the candles, rolled over, and drifted into sleep.
Around the witching hour, he started awake and lay still, listening. Someone was in his room. He reached beneath his pillow, closed his hand around his pistol, and waited. Light footsteps approached the bed. The sound told him it was a woman walking barefoot. He relaxed, wondering if one of the servants had cast her eye on him. How had he failed to notice? His brow furrowed. He felt sure he had locked the door. Richard watched through half-closed eyes.
Caroline Bingley.
She skirted the edge of his bed and came around to the far side. She wore an expensive, transparent negligee that left little to the imagination. What devilry was this? Did she think to compromise him, a military man, to avenge herself upon his cousin? He stifled a grunt and remained still.
He felt the bed dip. From the corner of his eye, he saw her hesitate. It was too dark for her to see him clearly in the shadows, but he could make her out in the faint moonlight that slipped through the gap in the drapes. He never slept with the windows shut nor the curtains drawn; after years of sleeping in open fields, he could not bear to be stifled indoors.
She slid beneath the covers and pulled the coverlet up to her chin, then she lay her head on the pillow. So, she would not invade his body, only his room and his bed. Well, perhaps there was some shred of decency left in her, though he doubted it; any woman who would enter a man’s bedchamber dressed as she was possessed no true modesty. The scent of wine lingered in the air, faint but unmistakable. So, she was a trifle disguised. That explained it. He had thought Miss Bingley a malcontent, quick to take offense, but not wanton. Drink, it seemed, had loosened what little restraint she possessed.
He waited a few minutes longer, but she did not move.
